Figment of Your Imagination
by moriartybby
Summary: How John copes after the death of his best friend. There's a happy ending, I promise!


**After the fall**

"I'm very sorry, John." Lestrade had driven John home. John's appearance broke Greg's heart and he wasn't sure if he could leave the poor man alone.

"Yeah…me too…" John sat down in the worn-down sofa and sighed.

"If there's anything you need…you know how to reach me."

"Thanks."

"Well…" He hesitated. "Good night, John." Lestrade was about to leave when John stopped him with a question.

"Do you believe in him?"

"In who?"

"Sherlock. Do you…do you still believe in him?" John asked, his voice breaking slightly.

"I-…" Lestrade sighed. "Yes. He was brilliant, we both-"

"Is. He _is_ brilliant."

Lestrade sighed and left John alone in the empty apartment.

John woke up early in the morning after just a few hours of sleep. He'd fallen asleep in front of the TV of mere exhaustion, but the night hadn't done him anything good. He'd had a nightmare; Sherlock had jumped from a roof and the fall seemed to take forever.

Of course, _that wasn't a dream_, John thought bitterly and blinked back a few tears.

"Please…just come back." John had seen deaths in Afghanistan, he'd lost friends there, but this…this was something else. This wasn't something he could handle. With each second that ticked, so did his heart, but with each tick a piece of him fell apart and it left him hollow. How could anything be the same again?

"Ho-ho!" there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson walked in. Her eyes were red and tears were still silently falling from the woman's eyes. "Oh, John…Lestrade told me all about what happened. I'm so sorry." John couldn't respond. Sherlock's death became more real with each person who apologized for his loss and it angered him. He shouldn't be dead, he was brilliant…he saved lives.

"You can stay here for as long as you would like, John. I just wanted to let you know that. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

"Ta."

He'd seen his therapist today, something Mrs. Hudson had asked *him to do. It helped a little bit, but he still couldn't tell her what he'd been thinking for these last couple of days. He wasn't sure he could say them out loud ever. The moment had gone, his opportunity had passed, so what was the point?

He hadn't been eating for days. He hadn't moved for days. John had been sat in that sofa, staring blankly at the wall and the only sleep he could get was when he collapsed of tiredness.

_John…get up. You're stronger than this._

He groaned at the recognition of that voice, _his_ voice.

"Come back."

_My funeral, John, it's…it's today._

"No. No, you are not dead. You will come back. You'll see. They'll all see. Soon, and then we'll be normal again. I…" John sighed. "I will be normal again."

There was a knock on the door and John looked up, it was Lestrade again.

"I thought I'd drive you to the church."

"You know, he never believed in God. I don't understand why he's being buried."

"Mrs. Hudson fixed it all, John. She thinks it would be nice to have the chance to visit his grave later on."

"Nice?" John got up. "No, this isn't _nice_! This is far from nice, this is-!" He voice broke.

"I know, John. I didn't mean that." Greg walked over to him and tried to comfort the poor bloke.

"He's not dead."

"John…you saw him fall…you saw his body. Molly wanted to do the autopsy and her report confirms it all. He's not coming back and I'm sorry, but it might make it easier on you to see him rest, at last. You know how he never got any rest."

"He sure as hell didn't need any rest now, not like this."

"I'll be waiting outside, John. Ready to leave in 30 minutes."

It was even worse to be outside in the world again. Sherlock's death was all over the news because of the funeral being held today and they all crushed the consulting detective. Moriarty had succeeded and Sherlock's death was something positive, not a grieving matter. Not to the world, anyway.

Lestrade told John that Molly couldn't bear to attend the funeral and he'd heard that Mycroft was too busy.

"Too busy to attend his brother's funeral?"

"I'm guessing so, yeah."

"Hah…" John smiled bitterly and wondered if it really was the feud between the brothers that stopped Mycroft from coming. _Stubborn bastard…_

"Mrs. Hudson is meeting you up there."

"You're not coming?"

"Sorry, no."

John just nodded. Sherlock really didn't have many friends.

It was late when John returned home, he was drunk to the core as he stumbled inside 221 B. He'd told Mrs. Hudson that he wouldn't return, but he'd apparently forgotten that as he placed the keys on the table.

_A bit drunk are we? _Sherlock's voice mockingly asked inside his head.

"What? Alcohol too good for you to try?"

_Oh no, not at all, John. I'd probably do the same if I were you._

"Well, you're not me. I'm alive and you're dead."

The voice didn't say much after that.

A splitting headache and a blinding sun through the window woke him up the next day. He groaned as he moved around in bed and tried to understand what was going on.

_You should close the curtains. _

"I bloody know that, idiot."

_I am far from being an idiot, you on the other hand…_

"I know that too, idiot." John muttered as he got up and closed the curtains.

The voice in John's head had continued, but it had also worsened. Now he could also see Sherlock a few times a day. He'd thought that it would all go away when he moved back to his own small little flat, but sadly…it didn't. Sherlock appeared every day now in his flat, which wasn't unusual at all, but he could also see him out on the streets. Never in close proximity of course, always watching him from afar. Sometimes in a café, sometimes lurking around the corner and other times sitting behind him on the bus with a questioning look on John. He never talked when John was outside, maybe it was his brain's way of staying slightly normal around others. He'd read up on how to deal with losses and it said that remembering them wasn't unusual, neither was feeling their presence. It was unusual however, if it continued for years. But only 6 months had passed so John wasn't worried yet.

"Wow…6 months. 6 months without you, Sherlock."

_I know._

"I still wish you were here, though."

_I am here, John._

It was a nice day, for once. The London air was warm and the sun was blazing and John's heart felt lighter than it had in days.

_I've got a surprise._

"Don't you always.." John smiled slightly as he left the flat.

Lestrade had sent him a text yesterday about meeting him today. Have a cuppa and just talk. John was surprised at receiving the text, but glad none the less.

They had decided to meet at the café outside Baker Street, their old apartment, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. John could see Sherlock in the corner of his eye, but it wasn't unusual. He had changed his mind about the whole situation, it felt like Sherlock was watching over him instead of torturing him with his death.

John crossed the road and found a free table inside and sat down. He felt a bit stupid for occupying a table suited for four all alone and hoped that Lestrade would show up soon. John looked up as he saw the door opening, but it was just Sherlock and he sat down next to John. They both kept their mouths shut, as was normal.

"Hello," a beautiful young woman was looking down at John. "What can I get you then?"

"Oh, I'm waiting for someone so it would be lovely if you could come back later." he smiled.

"Will do." she smiled at John and for a fleeting second he thought she had smiled at Sherlock too, but no, it must've been a trick of the mind.

Lestrade arrived ten minutes later with a troubled look on his face, but this all changed when he saw John and a huge smile replaced the previous emotion.

"Ah! So you know it then? Of course Sherlock beat me to it. Not that I'm complaining anyway. 'Was worried how I was going to spill it all out."

"What?" John looked blankly at him.

"Sherlock! Man of the day. I wonder why you're so calm though, I thought you'd be crashing the place."

"What are you talking about?"

"John…" Sherlock said, but John ignored him.

"You haven't told him?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock. "You break the poor man's heart and you don't tell him everything? Christ, Sherlock…give him a break."

"Sorry, WHAT?" John burst out, he was angry now. "Stop this, Lestrade. I don't know what the hell you're on about, but if your job is to crush me to pieces again…!"

"John. I'm here." Sherlock looked at John and John finally turned to look at him and suddenly things started to fall together rather than falling apart.

"Y-you can see him too?" John looked at Lestrade who only nodded a bit shocked.

"I've been around for a while, but I never knew how to approach you. You seemed to ignore me."

"Ignore-…Ignore you?" John looked at Sherlock. "Me, ignoring you? Is it you? 'Cause I don't bloody well know anymore, Sherlock! You are DEAD! You are dead to me, to Lestrade, to Mycroft, to Molly…the whole flipping world! YOU ARE DEAD!" he roared as he got up in anger and looked down on Sherlock. John's world had tipped over and all that he believed was now a shitload of lies. He could not take this, Sherlock was supposed to be dead. His heart was aching with each breath and tears started swell up in his eyes. He was angry, he was hurt yet on some level he felt relief.

"I am so sorry, John. But I am not dead."

John's s heart collapsed and he did the only reasonable thing he could think of. He pulled his right arm back and released it so that it came crashing towards Sherlock. His fist met Sherlock's nose and he heard a crack. John gasped, realising that Sherlock was not in fact a figment of his imagination. That's when the pain in his hand kicked in.

"SHIT. Bloody hell, fuck!"

"What was that for?" Sherlock glared at John, blood dripping from his nose.

"I thought you were fake!"

"Clearly I am not, John! I had to fake my death in order for Moriarty's men to release you. I've been in hiding for months, but his men has left the country for now so I am safe."

"You are never safe." he half laughed.

"Not without you, no."

John froze and looked up at Sherlock. An understanding passed between them, Sherlock's eyes asked for forgiveness and John merely nodded. He'd been hurt, but he understood the necessity of it all. Of course Sherlock would do anything to protect the few friends he had.

"The phone call form the hospital about Mrs. Hudson being shot…that was you?"

"Yes."

"And Molly…you asked her to do the autopsy so she could write a fake report?"

"Yes. I've been hiding at her place, that's why you haven't met her since my death. I couldn't risk her telling you."

"I forgive you."

"I didn't expected you to-"

"No, but I forgive you none the less."

* * *

><p>LOOOOOVE HUUUURTS. LOOOOOVE SCAAARS. And all that. Hope you liked it!(:<p> 


End file.
